When Sheena was let off from day school a few days before Christmas, the three of them made a round of the houses by the grand park just south of the city. They called from the street like fishwives, proclaiming their baskets and woven cloth the best this side of the Tyne. It was almost like play-acting, and they enjoyed the activity together. Sheila was disappointed by how little they made Christmas week, perhaps because the cloth was not waulked. If she’d been at home on Mull, no doubt she could have gotten together a group of her women friends for a waulking, where the cloth was pulled and stretched while wet to make it tighter. There would have been a dozen or so friends around a table, and the singing of special songs.
But no matter, Sheila was determined to keep going. They had enough for three people’s passage: £15, the result of their savings after a year of ups and downs. “If it is not this ship, it will be the next,” Sheila vowed to Muirne.
Gillan took no notice of their activities, or at least did not let on. He returned from the mill, and Neil returned from the docks at about the same time. If one was early at the crossroads before their little street, he waited for the other. There were a few moments then, to communicate any large or small thing that had happened at work that was not to be discussed in front of the women. So far, it was merely an opportunity for Gillan to chuck Neil in the shoulder and tease him about the man he’d become.
A few times now, Neil had been a quarter of an hour late, and he had begged Gillan’s pardon, he’d made a brief visit to Miss Letty. That just gave Gillan more ammunition for teasing, but he didn’t do it in front of everyone, knowing that the boy would come to it, telling the family his intentions in his own time.
***
***
The day before Christmas, Neil’s head was swarming. He’d heard from Muirne about the selling of the blankets and the baskets, and his mother’s hopes to leave Scotland. He was getting on fine with the men at the dockyard, and felt well enough suited to the hard work, but he wondered how they were to ever settle in, if they were only just scraping by. Would they ever build a new house of their own? Not if they didn’t own the land. Maybe settling in the Americas would be worth it, if they got to start over.
The option of further schooling was no longer on the table. They would have to hope that Sheena and Alisdair got even as much education as he had. He would teach them to read himself if he had to, but when? He left before sunrise and came home in time for supper, then had a few minutes to relax before falling asleep.
School, his siblings, land, time. The routine of his new life and its worries buzzed around his head until he had to shake himself. He stopped in the street, and looked up to find the Dog and Duck Pub. At this hour, there were plenty of customers dropping by for their drop of ale after work, or coming to order their supper if they did not have a wife at home. Neil stood and watched the flow of people for a minute before he saw Letty through the front window. She was setting down a wooden trencher with a large piece of roast meat before two gentlemen. They were a tad overdressed for the quality of the establishment, Neil thought. Letty’s usual serving apron covered a dark green dress with white trim at the neck. Her hair was held back with a green kerchief.
As she turned, the gentleman on the left caught her arm. He said something to her, and Neil felt his fists clench and his blood race. She deftly removed her arm from his grip and threw him a sardonic glance, before looking up and seeing Neil outside.
Letty’s face blanched. She hurried away, and the gentleman turned to see what had caused her about-face. He took in Neil standing in the street, glaring at him through the window, tossed off a comment that made his companion laugh, then turned back to his meal.
Neil continued glaring at them until Letty came through the side door, wrapping a shawl around herself. She was upset, if her jerky movements and frustrated puffs of air were any indication. He stepped out of the street to where she stood near the door.
“Letty, are you well? What was—?”
“What was what, Neil?” She raised a hard pair of eyes to his. “Me doing my job and humoring the customers? What do you think?”
“It looked like that man was being too forward, that’s all. I wouldn’t allow someone to be rude to you like that.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t, eh?” She said it with a dry, disbelieving humor, and Neil felt the cold mask of her city manners fall between them.
“Letty, please. I want to—that is, I’d like to—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Letty, I wonder if you would—”
“Oh!” she cried out, and flung herself at him. This was no chaste kiss like the ones he’d been leaving her with. Letty had her arms round his neck, one hand in his hair and the other pulling him down to her mouth. She kissed him passionately, and he responded. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he reached around to pull her closer. His loins responded as well, and he felt himself swelling, aching to push farther into her.
He gasped at this thought and broke contact, stepping back and almost tripping over the barrels lined up outside the tavern. He put a hand back to stop himself and straightened. Letty gaped, waiting for him to explain his sudden breaking away.
“Letty,” he said softly. She came to him more calmly then, and he rubbed his right hand over her back. “I’m sorry. I should never have—”
“I don’t care. Neil, what were you going to say?” He saw the hope in her eyes then, a hint of a smile. He felt emboldened again, but tried to hold his body firmly in check.
“Letty, would you come to America if I were to go?”
“I—what?” Her hopeful face had transformed into creases of worry and open-mouthed fear. “America?”
“Aye—or Canada. My family have been thinking—”
“Canada? Sail off? But, Neil—” She reined in her discomposure, smoothing her forehead and pressing her lips together. Her voice dropped to a low growl and her gaze remained downcast as well. “I thought you were going to ask for permission to go courting.”
“Well, of course, there’s that as well,” Neil said, laughing. He grasped her left arm and dipped his head down to put himself in her line of vision. Reluctantly she met his gaze. His confidence pushed him to bubble over. “But Letty, there’s a chance we could—”
“I can’t leave. I don’t want to hear about it. You can’t ask it of me! Don’t—don’t come here anymore, Neil.” She shook herself and his hands lifted in shock. She walked resolutely back into the tavern, and Neil was left standing in the cold, his hands outstretched and his face registering just how lost he felt.
***
***
Neil was several minutes late meeting his stepfather at the crossroads. Gillan was not surprised, and waited composedly on one of the white-painted rocks, watching the people scurry along. A large carriage trundled by with two long buckboards on each side of the driver, open instead of a proper roof. It was pulled by a pair of sweaty draft horses, and the party of people on top looked as if they were having a gay time of it. Happy chatter, with the slow cadence of a day well spent in energetic pursuits, reached Gillan’s ear as he sat on his rock at the side of the road.
“…Greenock never looked so well…”
“…shall always be in my memory…”
“…the best holiday…”
After the omnibus roared past, it stopped for a passenger to alight and return to her home nearby. Gillan pondered the episode. Some of the men at work had talked of these holiday omnibuses, that take you away for the day and bring you back for a fee lower than a hired cab, since it was a shared conveyance. It seemed a popular pursuit here, no doubt because people liked to get away from their work and forget their misery. Gillan’s heart constricted a bit as he thought that. Oh, for my work at home, he pined. Of course, Sheila’d been right when she talked of him not being made to work in the guts of a machine. But what could he do? He needed to support his family.
At last, the tread of Neil’s well-worn shoes interrupted his reverie. Neil looked up from his
feet to Gillan’s waiting gaze, but his expression was inscrutable.
“Not had a good session with Letty, then?”
“No, I was not with her this time. She was busy.”
“Well, then—”
“I cannot say, Father. I have been walking. That—is all I can say for now.”
Gillan scanned Neil’s face for signs of trouble. Had he taken drink? Had a shock? Been thrown out of the tavern by Letty’s father? He saw evidence of none of these things, only Neil’s effort to keep his face neutral, while a vast mountain of sadness ate at his heart. Gillan’s own mountain threatened to bury him when he saw that. Without speaking, they both turned away home.
***
***
While Christmas fell in the middle of the week that year, the managers at the mill had done them the great favor of closing for the day, and so the next morning, the family went off to kirk together. Gillan noticed Neil’s continued downcast face, but waited to question him. If it was a lovers’ quarrel, he’d explain as soon as his gloom was shaken off.
The service was not a long one, and many people were in a good mood, having had a special meal the night before, and seeing the prospect of another one before them. For the MacLeans, it was a time for giving thanks that they survived. Indeed, Gillan had not got all the news of his family’s journey out of Sheila, and he suspected there was something she did not share, that Neil had seen or been part of. It had marked them. Gillan saw it especially in the way that Muirne looked at Neil like he was her savior, the way Sheila proudly gazed on her son.
For the first time in a long while, Gillan felt left out of the family circle, the way he had when he and Sheila had first married, and he’d had to prove himself a father to the three small children from her first marriage. He shook those thoughts out of his head and concentrated on the final benediction. All of a sudden, he knew what would fix it: I’ll take them on one of those omnibus holidays!
It was too late to do today, but he marked the spot where he’d seen the passenger alight and had vaguely recognized the lady; he would find her and ask how to request a place. As soon as he’d thought of it, he stood a little taller, and reached for his wife’s hand. She looked up at him from the side, surprised. He merely smiled and looked back to the front. She looked back toward the minister as well, wondering what had come over her husband, but giving thanks that it was lifting his melancholy.
After the service, Sheila had planned to take the step of appealing to the parish authorities for food, as she knew she only had the bit of barley harvested and few of their smoked fish to last them through another month. The loss of their vegetable store was a blow from which they could not recover this season. She sought out one of the church board members’ wives and explained her need.
If she had expected kindness on this day of Christ’s birth, she would have to keep looking, as the lady’s expression changed to one of repugnance as she realized what Sheila was asking for. “Yes, yes, we can put your name on the rolls. Another MacLean, is it?” she said idly, marking it down with her fountain pen on a ready piece of paper in her reticule.
“It’s bread and a strong broth we provide, and ye can pick it up yoursel’s every Monday and Friday.”
“Thank you, ma’am, and best wishes for Christmas, ma’am.”
She ducked her head and headed back to her family, her cheeks stinging a little, but the weight on her chest lessened a bit. When she reached Gillan and saw how nicely turned out her family was, what good manners her children had, her spirits rose even higher. She combed her fingers through Alisdair’s lank hair, looking up to find Gillan’s gaze.
“Shall we go?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next day Gillan did manage to hunt down the figure he’d seen getting down from the omnibus. It was a Mrs. Jones in the street across the main trunk road, and she gave him the information readily enough, wishing him a happy Christmas as well.
He planned it for the Sunday after Christmas. Instead of kirk, he would take them on a holiday to Greenock, where they would be in a much better frame of mind to be thankful to God for all His blessings, anyway. When he told them on the Saturday before, they clapped with delight at his idea.
“Now, make sure that ye pack well in your warmest, and keep the warm stones at your feet,” he managed before he was covered in hugs from his two daughters and young son.
“Eh, now, let him be. We’ve got to be up and washed and dressed. Did ye no hear?” Neil poked at Alisdair, who was hanging onto Gillan’s leg.
“Yes, yes! I hear’d it. Just wait!” And he scampered out to the privy and then the pump to wash. Neil grinned at the high-pitched cry, and delighted himself in watching his sisters and mother fall to, hunting for their heaviest capes and the extra plaids.
They were off early the next morning, and easily acquainted themselves with the other passengers seated on the buckboard slats. As each person entered, the driver collected the fee, a few shillings each, and wished them a merry holiday.
“And have you been to Greenock a’fore, sir?” the large matron beside Gillan asked. He shook his head. “Ah, it’s beautiful to be by the sea,” she said with a sigh.
It was a frosty morning, although there was no snow on the ground, and the company shared out the blankets, amassing body warmth through chatter and laughter. With the horses at a regular trot, it took them above two hours to make the seaside town. The driver collected the stones people had brought and promised to set them in the fire at the public house where he was headed. “See you then at three o’clock!” he shouted to each party as they set off.
The MacLeans made their way leisurely through the main road of the town to wander down the dunes to the sea. It was churning white and green, and there were many ships of all stripes and shapes to observe, as the Port of Glasgow was not far off the mouth of the river.
Sheila and Muirne carried their baskets with provisions, while Sheena had their large quilt folded under both arms. They fanned out and pointed out different sights on the water to each other. Neil saw that Gillan had drifted farthest to the right, north towards the river, and stopped. He saw his father’s hands in his pockets, his back rigid with tension.
Neil called to him but he did not hear. Worried, Neil jogged over to him, touched his shoulder. “Father, what’s wrong?”
For an answer, Gillan merely nodded ahead of him. Turning, Neil saw what he had seen that had rattled him so. With the last winter storm on the coast, wreaths of tangled kelp stems were strewn across the bank and up above on the hills. They were not set out for drying; in fact, it looked like some had been torched where they were, but they had not burned long so close to the waves.
The initial reaction Neil had was a surge of pride: What bounty we have on our shores! But then he realized it was sitting to rot and float away, and he understood his stepfather’s rigidity. It was fury, both at the turn of events and at his impotence to stand up to them. What a waste. He pulled at his sleeve, willing him to come away before the girls came to look for him as well.
“Aye, ’tis a waste, Father, but dinna dwell on it today. You’ve had a fine idea for a holiday, and I shan’t waste it, or ruin it for the others. Let’s go.”
Gillan nodded. His eyes were moist with tears. He clasped Neil’s arm. “Aye, I’ll come. I jis’—”
He did not finish his thought, but Neil knew what he meant. They shook off the feeling of rage that had fallen on them both at the sight of their former livelihood going to rot on the beach. Neil cleared his throat. “I asked Letty if she’d be up for travel to the New World if I was to go. She said no.”
Gillan turned to look at Neil, his eyebrows lifted.
“I thought I may as well get all the sad news out at once.” Neil explained. “Now we can enjoy ourselves, then.”
Neil gave him a brief smile. Gillan shook his head slowly, following. Within sight of the rest of the party, Gillan made a great effort to appear cheerful. He threw himself down on the sand near where
Alisdair was seated, digging in the sand for crabs or clams, and asked to be buried.
With glee, Alisdair made a move to slop the wet sand at his father, and Gillan rolled out of the way in time. He had them all laughing again soon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The trip to the shore buoyed everyone’s spirits. Then it was time to make plans for Hogmanay, the celebrations for new year. This always involved a grand affair of a meal, a large variety of drinking games for the men, and the first footing, with special presents to be given in the midnight darkness. It was something the MacLean children usually looked forward to for weeks on the island but had not held out much hope for this year: Hogmanay depended on the friends you had.
True, Jenny and Charlie’s family would join theirs for the first footing walk around their village, but Muirne pined for their own village’s celebration, where Katie Miller would be slipping the whisky to the younger lads, and Mrs. McCall would be howling down the plagues of Heaven on anyone out of their beds. Those familiar notes of anticipation crept back, all the more attractive as they approached the holiday.
Sheila and Muirne debated whether to give some of their baskets as gifts or keep them to sell. Could they afford it? Yes, it was decided. They were packed with sachets of herbs picked along the river, jellies of gooseberries gathered from brambles, and spicy ginger biscuits, that wonderful holiday treat. Never mind that they were receiving their broth and meal from the parish store, the women were determined to continue their tradition of generosity on this day.
They managed to procure most of a shoulder of lamb, and Sheila made sure it was in the pot all day, long enough to become tender and richly flavored with its own fat and the luxurious spices she had come by: white pepper and coriander. She reminded herself that this was the one time in the year when they celebrated so, and that every other coin they made was going to necessities or to their ship passage fund. They would make it up, somehow.
The Keening Page 10
